My grandfather
used to be an inveterate slot-jockey, always slipping away from my nan to waste a tenner whenever they were in a pub.
Unfortunately he wasn't the luckiest gambler in the world, so after the fruity won his cash he'd go to the bar, change a 20 pound note for twenty pound coins, and head back to the table where we were all sitting.
Nan would normally open proceedings with "have you been wasting your money on those bloody machines again?", at which point he'd grin, put his hand in his pocket, and jingle the change he'd just obtained from the bar.
My grandmother's face would split open into a huge grin, and all would be forgiven as he'd clearly doubled his money.
He died 15 years ago and she still doesn't know that the money he 'won' every weekend had probably come straight out of his pension.
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Mon 6 Jun 2011, 12:44, Reply)